is the number of years that have past since that February 5th day my family and I said goodbye to our father, Bruce Barr May, Sr.
A God fearing, imperfect, hardworking, could-kick-your-ass, family man who we are proud to have called Father.
After his death our Mom found this poem that he had cut out of a newspaper, tucked away inside his wallet...
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
I think that says it all.
in my eyes he was ten feet tall
